Solid Ground
by valiasedai
Summary: As the only surviving Templar from the uprising, Cullen has become something of an anathema among the other Templars, and Dagna finds the Circle Tower more lonely than she expected. Together, they find companionship and more. AU for DA2 timeline.


Kinloch Hold was _fascinating_. There were entire _floors_ dedicated to books, dozens of people there to study. Sure, she'd spent the first several days cleaning up blood and broken glass, but the things she'd found among the dead made it all worth it. Sheaves of paper, splattered and soaked in blood, held notes on the use of magebane as a healing agent. Tiny journals kept by apprentices, noting how they had settled on spell choices. Secret notes and letters, long-forgotten in scattered books. There had even been an enormous book hollowed out as a hiding place for a rather large crystal bottle of what smelled like wine tempered with lyrium. The last she had only found last night, and she promised herself she'd find time to study it fully.

This afternoon was empty. For all her begging and pleading Greagoir had forbid her attendance at a Harrowing, and the other mages still weren't used to having her there. With any luck, Irving would be done with his duties there shortly after sunset and she could try and convince him to let her into the stores. The Tranquil refused to let her in, smiling blandly and holding a hand against her shoulder any time she tried. She never pushed very hard – they were kind and suffered a poor fate – but she was reaching the end of her patience. There was a short, thick rod mentioned in _Veri Phylus_ that seemed particularly intriguing.

"Who's there? You're supposed to be in classes or your quarters right now. No one is out unsupervised during a Harrowing."

Dagna only jumped a little. She turned to face the Templar and smiled. "I think I'm alright to be here. Magic doesn't do much to dwarves, you know." She had a theory about that, but she needed a willing surface dwarf to test her idea. "My name's Dagna."

The Templar frowned at her. "I've heard of you. You're here to study magic." There was distaste in his tone.

"Magic and anything to do with it. The Imperium, the Chantry, bloodlines, lyrium, Templars." She let out a little laugh and clapped her hands. "I guess that means I'm here to study you!"

He looked horrified at the idea and moved to leave.  
"Wait!" She hurried over to him. "I didn't get your name."  
The Templar eyed her a few moments. "It's Cullen."  
Dagna raised an eyebrow. "Just Cullen?" He nodded once. "Well then, nice to meet you. I'm sure I'll see you again!" She held out a hand – it was something surface people loved to do.

Cullen took her hand with two fingers and a thumb. It wasn't what she was used to, but maybe it was different in his village. _I should ask about that_.

He was already leaving though, and when she called to him he kept on, shoulders hunching.

It was odd, but nothing terrible. At least now she could try out that wine.

* * *

Cullen didn't know what to do.

The enchanters and apprentices were easy – they had magic, they used it until his skin itched and his head buzzed – but the dwarf was different. She couldn't use magic, she just wanted to learn. It might have been a bad thing, but he'd had to learn about magic, hadn't he?

He couldn't use it, thank the Maker, but he _knew_ about it. Her knowledge wasn't the problem. She smiled. Constantly. She'd smiled through the burning of bodies and the scrubbing of floors. She'd smiled at tomes too big for her to carry and scraps of paper too small for anyone else to care about. She smiled whenever she'd been informed she missed a meal, or when she was turned down to access restricted materials. He'd seen mages smile, but that was _different_. Her smiles were warm and genuine and her eyes crinkled at the corners. She laughed too, something so light-hearted and happy she almost giggled.

Cullen was drawn to her. It wasn't like that Surana girl who had been sent to Aeonar after helping a blood mage. That had been a foolish infatuation, and he was certain she'd used blood magic on him. _Seduced me, drew me in, made me want her, demon-possessed_ –  
"Morning, Cullen! I promise I have correct permission this time."

It was a few moments before Cullen realized _that_ voice belonged to someone. Dagna was smiling up at him, paper held out. He snatched it out of her hand and her smile faltered a little. "Let me see that." Irving had signed the paper, but so had Greagoir. The dwarf knew whose authority mattered. "You can go in."

Cullen turned to unlock the door he'd been guarding. It was the Harrowing Chamber – she'd been begging to get in for weeks. Once the door was open, he gestured inside. "Well, you can go up."  
"Neither one wanted me to go without an escort. The note says 'The Templar on duty shall provide an escort.'" From anyone else, the words would have seemed condescending or mocking. _She's different_.

Looking to the note, Cullen scanned its contents. She was right, word for word. "Very well. Go in and I shall follow. I need to lock the door behind us." She almost skipped in. It was then he noticed the little bag slung over her shoulder. "What's in that? What are you planning?"

"Just a blank book, quill and ink. I need to take notes. I don't know when they'll let me back in and I want to make this worth it."

Five hours later Cullen was sore and stiff and tired of standing at attention. Dagna had sketched the room, scoured every corner and spot to copy carved symbols and inscriptions on the floor. He'd warned her to not approach the pedestal alone, and so far she'd gone around it. Now she was close – almost too close. "Wait. I need to cleanse the area of magic."  
Her brown eyes widened and she nodded happily. "Of course. I've wanted to see what Templars can do, but Greagoir told me not to pester you."

He hesitated slightly. It almost sounded as though she had wanted to ask _him_. "I wouldn't mind. It's best to practice daily, not just meditate." He'd told Greagoir that after Uldred and the other blood mages. He'd seen Templars try and take too long to draw their energies. Practice under pressure, practice daily was what they needed.

Cullen realized Dagna was looking at him expectantly. He approached the pedestal and closed his eyes, drawing on his will. He let his mind clear to a soft, silvery void. The silver mist gathered at his thought, turning brighter, whiter, more powerful. With a sudden deep breath, Cullen threw his arms out and released the power.

The magic wasn't fully gone – it never was_here_ – but it was scattered. "There. It's as clean as it can get."

"That was beautiful. I could feel it, it was cold and hot all at once and the way it rippled across the stone looked like it was _alive_, I – could you do it again?" The dwarf wasn't smiling this time – her mouth was slightly open and her eyes were wide and she suddenly looked rather… pretty.

Cullen cleared his throat with a short nod. "Give me a minute." That earned him a smile that was altogether different than the ones he'd seen before. Her eyes were intent and her smile was only _just_ there. He closed his eyes and began to clear his mind. The silvery mist drifted through his head, but he couldn't call it to him. It formed into soft brown eyes and a half-gaped mouth with full lips that looked decidedly kissable.

"No!" His cry echoed in the stone chamber. _I can't do this again, not again, I've sworn my vows_.

"Are you alright?" Dagna stepped closer, eyes concerned. "I didn't mean to strain you."

He shook his head and held a hand out for her to stop. "It's hard to concentrate here. The revolt was worst in this room, there were demons and blood magic and –" His throat closed up suddenly and the memories were too strong. The pain he'd felt, the way the elf-mage had taunted and coaxed him, she claimed it was a vision, but he _knew_ her, every look, every expression. She had called to him, begging him to free her, kiss her, _take_her. The memories still haunted his dreams.

He opened eyes he didn't remember closing. He on his hands and knees, gripping the hem of Dagna's skirts, and his breath came in long, staggering gasps. "The magic, it corrupts and touches everything."

"It's okay, Cullen, no one else is here. It's just me." Small fingers ran through his hair in gentle, comforting strokes. "I can't do magic."

She was right. He'd seen spells slide off her when she'd insisted on testing her resistance. They didn't always dissipate, but they were never as bad as they should have been. She was something safe, a haven even Greagoir could not be. He lifted his face toward hers and a sudden calmness filled him. She was safe. He could be too.

* * *

He'd taken to following her. She wasn't exactly sure when – she was usually too engrossed in her books or her thoughts to notice her surroundings. It was a little unsettling, but she didn't mind. She'd finally been able to study the Templar powers because of him and she'd found out so much! It was almost as though the Templars drew on magic themselves, but she'd keep that to herself. The lyrium was a disturbing little aspect. She'd seen dwarves go a bit off from a cut, but the Templars drank little sips every day when they attend their prayers. She'd coaxed Cullen into admitting withdrawal was torturous. He still hadn't answered her questions about the revolt and what had happened, but she never pushed too hard. There was something dark that surfaced whenever she brought it up.

Cullen was in the corner of the library, half-watching her, half-glaring at the apprentices who had come to study. He rarely wore his helmet, something unusual, if not forbidden in the Tower. He had hair that was _curly_ and when he did smile his face was nice. He didn't smile enough, no one here did. She couldn't blame them after what happened, but it was worse with Cullen. A look at the rosters had shown he was the only Templar in the upper levels who survived the revolt. Greagoir had told her to be careful around him. _"He isn't exactly stable, but I don't think he'll hurt anyone. You_should_be safe_._"_

The bell for first dinner sounded and Cullen's posture stiffened as apprentices hurried to eat. When the room was nearly empty, Dagna carefully closed her book and walked over to the Templar. "Good evening!"

He smiled a little and nodded. "The same to you."  
"Would you mind teaching me the meditations again? I've written them down, but I can't find them in my notes." She was in dire need of organizing the wobbly stacks of paper that filled her small room.

"Of course. Do you want to stay here or…" he blushed and cleared his throat. "Maybe somewhere more private?"

She grinned as the color in his cheeks deepened. "Private would be best, there's too much in here to distract me."

Cullen shifted a little and toyed with the sash at his hips. "There's a practice room upstairs that should be empty. Come along."

He turned and walked quickly enough she had to run to keep pace. By the time they reached the empty stone room high in the tower she was half out of breath, but Cullen was breathing hard too.

As they caught their breath, Cullen took off his gauntlets and began working at the violet sash. He caught her confused look and shrugged as he ducked his head. "It's easier if I can show you instead of tell you."

_Of course!_ "Would you like some help?" She really didn't know enough about armor – her smith training had never gotten that far. The Templar's armor was so unique she hadn't dared to ask if she could study it. She had a feeling there was something special about the pattern on the robes.

When Cullen nodded it was all she could do to keep from clapping in delight. She was slow and a bit clumsy, but he never hurried or berated her, just told her which strap to undo next. It was a complicated process and she was beginning to see why the Templars rose so early – they needed so much time to get dressed! The intricate purple robe came off as well, then the long chain shirt that almost brushed the tops of his boots. He looked smaller and less intimidating out of the armor and by the time he was down to tunic and breeches, she could almost forget he was a Templar at all.

* * *

He felt naked. The room was cold and it seeped through his thin linen clothing. He was never this vulnerable unless there were other Templars around. Still, there were no mages. And Dagna was here. He didn't feel bad around her and the whispers in his head stilled when she was near. Part of him felt guilty for following her around the Tower, but Greagoir had wanted _someone_ to keep an eye on her and he'd volunteered. It was better than being assigned to watch the mages.

Dagna cleared her throat and Cullen blinked down at her. "Right. Sit." There was supposed to be some initiatory ceremony with words and actions, but she wasn't going to be a Templar. He frowned a little and sat in front of her, adjusting his posture and pose until it was _just_ so. "Sit like this, facing me, and close." Now he thought of it, there _were_certain elements of the ceremony that had seemed to help.

She mirrored her movements as best she could, though she was still a little off. He sighed and moved one of her feet until it was angled correctly. "There. Now, hold your hands in front of you like so," he cupped the back of one hand with the other, "and settle the area near your elbows on your thighs. Back straight." She was wrong again and he tried not to blush as he tucked her elbows closer against her hips and his fingertips brushed against her leg.

She was smiling at him, eyes eager. "Now what?"

"Close your eyes, bow your head and focus only on my voice." There was the smallest flash of curiosity across her features, but she complied. When he was certain she was in the proper form he began the recitation. It was slow and droning, but it cleared the mind of those who listened. As he neared the end of the first repetition, he drew on the silvery mist inside his head and released a sliver of power. It was just enough to cleanse the spot where they sat. Dagna shivered and began to falter in her stance before she caught herself. He smiled – she was an excellent student.

"Good. Continue and hold." He repeated the meditation again, along with another touch of power, this time half-way through. The move was meant to catch the initiate off guard, to interrupt their ability to focus. Throughout a Templar's training the distractions would grow increasingly unpleasant and the meditation would be forced through swordplay and hard labor, but for now the simple ripple was enough.

It was on the final recitation that her posture wavered. He finished and waited several moments, watching. He could see her arms trembling with the effort. The mental focus required was more draining than the physical aspect, but she had done well. "You're finished. Your lesson is over."

Her shoulders slumped and she let out a soft sigh. "That was more tiring than I expected." There was a soft grunt as she unfolded her legs. "Thank you."

"It was nothing." She raised an eyebrow and grinned, making Cullen feel uncomfortably warm. "Really."

"You didn't have to do it and you had to get all your armor off to show me. Thank you." She stretched her arms up and yawned. "Would you like me to help you get everything back on? I should be quicker."

He nodded. She was true to her word – he didn't have to guide her this time, and though he did have to bend down a little to give her access to a strap or two, she made quick work. "You learn quickly. You sure you've never done that before?"

She shook her head. "No, father and mother were never happy enough with my weapons to let me try armor. Too easy to waste metal that way, and my heart was never in smithing."

Cullen frowned. "You were a smith? Why did you choose something you didn't like?" He didn't exactly have a mother and father around to keep him from being raised in a Chantry.  
"It doesn't work like that in Orzammar. You're born into a caste – warrior, noble, smith, merchant – it all depends on your parent. Mothers determine caste for their daughters, fathers for their sons. Both of mine happened to be smiths, both were very skilled. I grew up playing in the light of the forge." She looked sad and on her features, it was an expression new to him. "I always loved books. But smiths don't read books, smiths make weapons and armor for our warriors."

"Do you miss them? Your parents." He wanted to see her smile again – he was too used to the sight, and her discomfort was upsetting.

She nodded and let out a soft sigh. "I do, but I can't go back. I suppose my name was struck from the Shaperate's lists when they realized where I'd gone. I'm a surface dwarf now – no caste, no official ties to Orzammar." He could see her eyes growing wetter and she quickly settled her gaze on his boots. "What about you?"

"Just another nameless orphan from the tail end of the rebellion. I was given to the Chantry. They named me, raised me, trained me – everything I am is because of the Chantry." It was something he hadn't thought of in a long time. When he was little he'd wished he'd had at least a few memories of his parents. Seeing Dagna's sorrow, he suddenly wasn't so certain.

"Ah, that's why you're so dedicated." He frowned at her and she smiled a little. "You take longer shifts than the others, you go to sleep later, yet I've never heard of you missing morning devotions. It makes sense, now."

It did, in an odd way. It wasn't the same as having parents, but he supposed it was rather like being raised by a rather large extended family. _A little_. The thought made him feel warm inside.

The warmth followed him long after he and Dagna parted ways. For the first time in a long time, his dreams were pleasant.

* * *

The days on the shore of Lake Calenhad passed quickly. It was strange to feel the way the air changed. Weather was still something odd, but it made a little more sense the more time passed. Seasons were messy things. She had read that autumn was supposed to grow cold, but the days were still warm. Nights she wasn't allowed out – no one but the Templars were – so she was left to hunt down windows low enough for her to reach. Cullen was still her constant shadow, though by now she knew it was under Greagoir's orders. He seemed amused by her antics, but not the way the others were. Most of the humans – and some of the elves – would give an exasperated sigh any time she couldn't reach something. It wasn't _her_ fault everything from the stairs to the benches was so big. The way Cullen watched was different. He had the same look he wore any time she grew overly excited over some long-hidden bit of information buried in an obscure book.

It was nice to have someone she saw regularly. The apprentices were shuffled around with no real schedule she could sort out, running to take lessons from this enchanter or that. Everyone had a place they were supposed to be, a thing they were supposed to be accomplishing – even the few bits of free time they had were rigidly scheduled around some massive, incomprehensible structure the mages and Templars drifted through. Everyone but her.

It hadn't been so bad the first several months, but she couldn't quite get the hang of everything. She still felt like an outsider. Cullen was really the only person she could say she knew very well. He seemed a little like her – not rejected by anyone, but not quite accepted by them either. The other Templars didn't speak with him, and when he took dinner before her, she noticed he at alone. She was tempted to join him, but she didn't know how it would look. She'd heard whispers about the two of them already and Stone knew Cullen didn't need anything else to worry about.

She just hadn't thought she'd be so lonely in a Tower so full of people.

* * *

He wanted her.

Not like that. _Well, maybe._ It was _more_, though. It wasn't like the Surana girl – she'd been a whirl of dark hair and pale skin and ice-blue eyes that made his knees go weak. Dagna spoke to him and laughed and smiled and for all he suspected she might not be _quite_ as happy as she seemed, she always had a smile for him.

That was why Cullen wanted her: just being around her made him feel better, hopeful. He hadn't seen her all day – something that made him realize how hollow the Tower seemed without her around. Everyone claimed they hadn't noticed if she'd been around and he was beginning to worry. _How could they_not _notice her_? Her red hair was only half as striking as the way she bubbled with excitement over a new book. He'd searched every library and all of the unlocked classrooms to find nothing. There was only one other place she could be if she was alone.

The climb to her tiny room seemed to take ages. She was in a former closet halfway between the third and fourth floor. He wasn't certain how she managed in such a place, but she never complained about it.

Something about the simple crooked door made his determination waver. Maybe she wanted to be left alone. He didn't have anything else to _do_, though and it only taken half an hour to realize he missed her.

"Dagna? Are you in there?" He didn't knock and his voice was soft, but the hallways were quiet.

There was a muffled thump from behind the door. "Just a minute." The tightness in his shoulders relaxed just a little. The door burst open suddenly and a flurry of papers came with it. Dagna followed, landing with a low grunt. "Ow. Sorry, I need to organize these."  
Cullen bent to help pick up the pages, fingers clumsy in his gauntlets. He pulled them off and began gathering the papers. "Did I interrupt you?"

She shook her head and let out a soft sigh. "No."

When she didn't say anything more Cullen grew very still and frowned. "Where have you been all day?" He thought he sounded a little desperate, but he didn't much care.

Dagna rubbed the back of a hand across her cheek. "Here."

She was _never_ this quiet. He reached out to touch her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

There was a brief moment where she tensed, but she quickly sank into his touch and he heard a soft gasp. "My parents. They sent me a letter." She was shaking her head and fumbling with a pouch at her belt. She withdrew a folded piece of paper. "Here."

He felt clumsy with the paper as he unfolded it. It was covered in a strange, blocky form of writing. "I can't read this…"

"Oh, right." She held out a hand and he returned the letter. He finally caught a glimpse of her face - her eyes were red and he could see streaks on her cheeks from tears. Cullen almost didn't recognize her. "My father wrote it – my mother was never very good with words." She cleared her throat and sighed. 'We received your letter months ago. At first, we thought you would return, curiosity sated and finally ready to learn the trade of your family. Since you have remained surface-side so long, your mother and I have decided there is only one course of action. As members of the Smith caste, we declare you a surface dwarf with no caste, no family name and no holdings in Orzammar. This has been recorded in the Shaperate. Should you wish to return to us, you will wear a brand. You are welcome in our home as a guest, but not as a daughter.'" She sniffled and drew a shaky breath. "That's it."

Something in Cullen's stomach twisted and anger surged inside him. "They shouldn't have done that. They're still your parents." This wasn't _right_. She'd told him a little about the castes and what she'd said about the casteless had made his blood chill. Even the mages, dangerous though they were, weren't left to rot in filthy back alleys.

"It was proper. They would have lost face if someone else had done it. I knew they would, I just..." Her lower lip trembled and despite her words he could see the tears forming in her eyes.

Cullen scooted towards her awkwardly and pulled her into a hug. She clung to him, pressing against his armor without a care. "I'm sorry." He didn't know what else to say, but she didn't let go. Her face was buried against his neck and her hair tickled his chin. He shifted a little and wrapped his arms around her waist. He could feel his face growing hot and he was suddenly baffled as to how _anyone_ might confuse her for a child. The dip of her waist flared into hips that filled his hands perfectly and sent his heart racing. _Stop it, she's upset_.

Some minutes later he realized she'd stopped crying, but was still firmly nestled against him. She pulled her head back a little and he gave her a smile. She half-returned it and fixed her eyes on his. They were large and wet and a little red, but _Maker_ they were lovely. She lifted a hand to his face and ran a finger along his jaw line. "Thank you."

Cullen began to speak, but her lips were suddenly against his, soft and light. He'd never kissed anyone before, never _been_ kissed and he didn't quite know how to react.

When she began to pull away he opened his eyes – _when did I close them?_ – and saw the blush on her face. "Sorry, I'm sorry if –"

He kissed _her_ this time. It was just as nice as the first and he let out a soft whimper when she responded. Fingers were tangling in his hair, holding him close and he was suddenly too warm.

By the time she pulled away his head was spinning and his hands had somehow ended up cupping her bottom. He wanted to say _something_, but he didn't want to ruin the moment.

The bell for first dinner sounded loudly and they both jumped. She was suddenly crawling out his lap and he only had a moment to realize he didn't know how she'd gotten there in the first place. Both of them returned to picking up the still-scattered pages from the floor. He was certain the silence would have felt awkward with anyone else, but she smiled at him whenever he caught her eye and it all felt right.

* * *

Dagna was curled in the corner of one of the smaller libraries, an old book open on her lap. She wasn't really reading. Cullen was by the doorway, eyeing a pair of apprentices. She still couldn't believe she'd kissed him. It wasn't _bad_, she just wasn't sure if there were rules about kissing Templars. She'd dug out a book on the order and looked over the oaths. They were forbidden to marry or have children, but there was nothing about kissing. _Or anything else_. Celibacy seemed to be more a tradition than an actual promise.

A loud gasp brought her attention to the apprentices. The girl was staring at her hand, face tight with pain. "I'm bleeding! What did you do?" Dagna could hear the panic in her voice.

Cullen was reaching for his sword as Dagna climbed to her feet, his eyes dark and determined. He was entirely focused on the mages.

"Cullen, no!" He faltered a little and his hand released his sword. She inched forward, hands held out. The apprentices were frozen in place and she could see the bright red blood as it dripped to the floor.

The stillness shattered when the boy reached out to heal the girl. Cullen closed his eyes and let his hands fall to his sides, hands open. Dagna's breath caught as she recognized the posture. Her eyes flicked to the apprentices – the girl was crying and the boy's hands were glowing with the soft blue of healing.

Everything seemed to move in fits and starts. She was moving suddenly, then pushing the apprentices out of the way. The girl shrieked and scrambled away, the boy close on her heels, as Cullen's lifted his arms. His hands clenched and the sky opened above her head. He pulled the light down and it blinded her just before everything went black.

* * *

Greagoir's jaw ached. It was taking far too much effort to appear calm. He still wasn't certain what had happened. Bran had appeared in his office not an hour before, armor streaked with bloody handprints. Greagoir still didn't know much more than something had happened with two apprentices, Cullen and the dwarf girl. All of them were in the infirmary, though Bran had said Cullen was unharmed.

Ser Tanvor was on guard and bowed sharply when he saw Greagoir. The new Templars sent to replace those lost were still a little stiff. "Knight-Commander."  
Greagoir nodded. "Who's in there?"

"Apprentices Salen and Meria, as well as the dwarf, Dagna. Ser Cullen and Enchanter Hiren is seeing to most of the healing." The Templar's posture was still stiff.

"At ease." Ser Tanvor nodded, but nothing else about the man changed. Greagoir bit back a sigh as he opened the door.

Cullen caught sight of him first and nearly knocked over a chair as he stood. "Knight-Commander."

"Ser Cullen." He hadn't used the formality since the uprising and the young man's shoulders slumped a little. "Would you like to explain what happened?"

The Templar's gaze slid to one of the beds before he approached Greagoir. "I'm not sure how it started. One moment nothing was happening, the next Meria was bleeding. I…" Cullen looked down and let out a slow breath. "I thought they were doing blood magic. I lost control, I didn't think, I didn't mean to hurt her. I'm sorry, I should have –"

Greagoir held up a hand. "Slow down, Cullen. Who did you hurt? Meria?"

"Meria's fine." Enchanter Hiren was hunched over the same bed Cullen had eyed. "She and the boy won't be able to cast anything the rest of the day, and they might be a bit sore, but it's no more serious than that." The mage let out a soft sigh. "He caught the dwarf full force, though. If she was a mage it would've killed her."

Cullen's brow furrowed. "Her name's Dagna."

Hiren waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, Dagna. That smite broke half her ribs, gave her a nasty head injury and there was some internal bleeding."

The fact that no one was dead or dying should have been cause for relief, but Greagoir knew Hiren. The man normally would have been boasting about the fine job he'd done healing. Wynne and that damned apostate-turned-Warden were better healers, but with both of them gone Hiren was the best. "How is she now?"

The mage stood and turned to Greagoir. He looked older than usual, and his mouth was turned down in a frown. "I've done what I can. The bleeding has stopped, but I can't do much more than that. It's that resistance dwarves have; the healing took much more out of me than it should have. I can try again once I've rested."

Greagoir inclined his head and the mage returned the gesture. "Thank you. Do what you can when you're able." Hiren nodded once before leaving.

The apprentices were staring at Greagoir, eyes wide, mouths slightly agape. "You two may leave as well." Relief washed over their features and they scrambled for the door, nearly tripping over each other. Irving could deal with them.

That left only Cullen and Dagna in the room. Greagoir moved to one of the benches and sat down with a heavy sigh. "Cullen, take a seat, please."

The young man nodded nervously and pulled a bench over. He cringed when the wood scraped noisily across the stone.

Greagoir put his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together, resting his chin against them as Cullen sat down. "Tell me everything."

* * *

The last month had been lonely. Cullen had been shuffled away from her and the other Templars shadowed her now. It wasn't the same. None of them cared to talk and they begrudged her tendency to late nights. The only ones who talked to her now were Salen, Meria and Hiren, when he had the time. The apprentices were a little fawning, full to bursting with gratitude and admiration. Their attentions were sweet, but it wasn't companionship. As rewarding as Hiren's occasional chats could be, they turned to inquires about her health far too quickly. The enchanter had stopped trying to heal her once the worst of her head injury had been healed. Her ribs still hurt, especially any time she had to climb the stairs, which was a near-constant reality in the Tower. Irving had offered to have her rooms moved to a particular floor, but her little room was _hers_ and it was the one place she felt like being alone was a choice.

She'd spent the day there, digging through one particularly unwieldy stack of papers. Two dozen pages lay on the bed, each sorted with a particular destination in mind. Two were for Greagoir, one for Irving, and the rest were scattered among the various Tranquil. Now, only the Knight-Commander's were left.

As the curved hall gave way to Greagoir's door, Dagna's breath caught. Cullen was standing guard. She couldn't help smiling a little. It was good to see him again. As she drew closer, she caught his attention with a little wave. "Hi, Cullen."

His face paled and he quickly dropped his gaze to the floor. "Hello, Dagna."

She stopped in front of him and tried to ignore the odd flutter of nerves. "How have you been? I haven't seen you in a while."

Cullen shifted a little. "I'm fine." He shot a quick glance at her. "How are you?"

"Good." Dagna licked her lips. She'd missed talking to him for weeks and now she had the chance she couldn't think of anything to say.

Several moments of silence passed before Cullen cleared his throat. "I'm sorry." There was a softness to his eyes she'd hadn't seen since the day they'd kissed. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I know." That earned her a small, relieved smile. "I've missed you. None of the other Templars talk to me."

Cullen's cheeks flushed. "I thought you might not want to be around me after… Greagoir agreed and assigned me standard duties."

She took a slow breath and stepped a little closer to Cullen. "I'd like to have you around again."

He gave her a shy smile and the color on his cheeks deepened. "I'd like that too. I can ask Greagoir about it tonight." He lifted a hand to her face and ran the back of one armored finger across her cheek. "I really am sorry. Can you forgive me?"

The low tone of his voice made her pulse quicken and Dagna nodded. "Yes."

At her words, Cullen straightened his shoulders and smiled a little wider. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Right. Have a good evening, Cullen!"

Dagna was half-way to her rooms before she realized she hadn't given Greagoir the notes. The bell for dinner rang and she shrugged to no one in particular. _There's always tomorrow._

* * *

The Tower was, as ever, plagued by icy winds and wicked snow storms and the stone never really warmed, no matter how many fires were lit. Still, Cullen was certain that _this_winter was milder than any he'd had at the Tower.

He was also more than a little certain it had everything to do with her.

He'd never seen someone so enamored with snow, or so fascinated by frost patterns on glass. Even the bitter wind hadn't bothered her, though she'd stopped her daily trek outdoors when she'd realized his armor was much colder than her wool and furs. He had a thick winter cloak, but it did little to counter icy steel plate.

The way Dagna seemed in love with every bit of winter was only part of what made her wonderful.

Cullen couldn't remember feeling this safe, this _happy_. She made him laugh and smile, and he hadn't dreamed of the revolt in months. A very small part of him muttered that he shouldn't feel this way about someone, that he'd taken _vows_, but her lips were soft and when she sighed against his mouth the world felt right. The other Templars whispered about the two of them, but he didn't care. He had her.

* * *

_AN: This was originally done for tlcgurl5 on livejournal as part of a secret swooper fic gift. Many thanks to sagacious_rage and decantate - the former for some Templar trivia and the latter for beta and inspiration!_


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